


Evolution

by candyvan



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, F/M, Gen, The Argent Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyvan/pseuds/candyvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evolution

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for a while and theN POKEMON GO CAME OUT AND I'VE BEEN CRYING ABOUT POKEMON FOR THE PAST WEEK and then this somehow happened???
> 
> [I made _this photoset_ a while ago, and it does contain spoilers for the story so look at your own risk!](http://majyyxx.tumblr.com/post/119183058126/i-choose-you-pokemon-au-scott-delgado-his) 

The air is stiff, crackling with tension as the two trainers stare at each other, eyes narrowed in challenge. Allison tenses as Riolu jumps, easily evading Charmander's ember. She grits her teeth, hating the way the trainer across from her oozes cockiness. He's young, possibly ten. She wonders if she’s one of his first few matches, unlucky enough to stumble across him as they both made their way through the forest.

 _“What are you doing out here all by yourself?_ ” He had asked her, absently throwing a pokeball in their air and catching it without looking. _“What, you think that tiny pokemon is gonna protect you?”_

She imagines knocking him down a peg as she shouts, “Riolu! Force Palm, now!”

Riolu nods at her and rushes forward, turning into a streak of light. Charmander stops, confused at the sudden movement, only to be landed with a sharp slap to the face. They look stunned, and Allison prays for paralyzation but doesn't count on it, ordering Riolu to do a quick attack before Charmander gets his wits about him. It's easy enough, since the kid and his pokemon don't seem to have formed that special connection, looking at each other with unsure, fidgety eyes.

She curls her hands into fist, excitement making her blood hot. This is it, the final blow; the quiet before the end, when the world turns to static and there's nothing except the two pokemon left. This is Allison's favorite part of battling, even when she's on the other side of it all, when it's her pokemon about to lose. The adrenaline rushes through her and makes everything sharper and brighter.

It’s like every other aspect of her life is blurry and suddenly, finally, she can see.

There's an actual cackle now, not just an imaginary one, and the quickly darkening sky begins to turn gray. She only has time to groan before the rain drops start, slowly and then progressively harder until it's like needles against her skin.

“Time out!” The other trainer calls, voice both relieved and worried. “This isn't fair fighting conditions! Charmanders attacks don't work as well in the rain.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Allison grumbles, waving a reluctant looking Riolu back. The rain doesn't really hinder battle conditions for them, but they can still get sick. That, and this is her last pair of clean clothes and she can already feel the rain seep through them to her skin. “Come on, my map says there's a pokemon center up ahead.”

She grabs Riolu in her arms, shielding him from the rain with her thick hair and gestures to the boy with her chin, “This way.”

She waits, bones chilling as the boy calls back his Charmander and leads him the short way to Cerulean City. If it weren’t raining, she’s sure she’d be able to smell the sea salt in the air. As it is, the rain and thunder are so loud she can barely hear the waves toss and turn against the shore.

Allison has been traveling for a week to get to this city, fighting her way through Mt. Moon and the bug laden lands of the forest. The feral and aggressive wild pokemon aren't even the worst part of her travels. No, that spot is reserved for the cocky trainers who hide in the bushes and sneak attack her.

They think that just because she has an unevolved pokemon and no badges that means she's an easy target. They don't see the muscles under her sleeves or the hard look in her eye, her straight spine or power stance. They see her and think girl. They see her and think weak. They all probably think she carries around a Riolu because they’re cute, not because they’re one of the strongest fighting pokemon in the world. They probably don't even know that Riolu is the unevolved form of Lucario.

They don't know anything.

The boy is practically sobbing by the time they pass the Cerulean City welcome sign, which makes her feel bad for going so hard on him. She's usually nicer to the kids, little ten year olds who are too afraid to travel from home but still want to play in the big leagues, but she's just so tired. She’s been traveling for so long; exhaustion clings to her like a heavy beast, carrying the weight of her name and her disappointments. All she wants right now is a nice place to sleep and a warm meal.

She looks back at the kid over her shoulder, sees him staring at the pokeball in his hands like he’s afraid something bad is happening inside and feels a pang of empathy.

Maybe she's the kid who's too afraid to leave home. She pulls Riolu closer to her, thinking of the look on her father's face when he gave him to her, the frown that made his face twice as long. His voice shook as he told her gently, _“Pokemon are special, and you’re special for training them. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you can’t train him.”_

The center is in the middle of town, swarming with trainers seeking refuge from the storm. Allison leads the boy to the front desk and, despite her own emotional turmoil, can’t help but smile at Nurse Delgado, the same warm face she's seen at three centers previous. She helps the crying boy hand his pokeballs over, even consoles him as he worries needlessly about their fate.

“Charmander is going to be fine,” she tells him, working to keep her voice calm and reassuring. She’s not afraid, of course. She’s seen the nurses of the Pokecenters bring pokemon practically back from the dead, and Riolu never dealt his fainting blow. “He's strong. Nurse Delgado is going to take great care of him.”

“Yeah,” a male's voice says from behind her. Allison turns to see a guy her age, with a familiar warm smile and floppy brown hair. “She's right. Nurse Delagdo will fix him right up.”

“See?” Allison tells the boy, “We've got a source. Don't worry, okay kid? Your pokemon will be fine.”

A Blissey comes by with a cart full of blankets and pillows, smiling cheerfully at the teary eye'd boy. The guy behind her takes a blanket with a small, “Thank you,” and drapes it across the younger boys back.

Within a minute, the boy is fast asleep, curled up on a waiting room chair with another trainer's foot close to his face. Allison leaves with a small shake of her head, guilt gnawing at her gut.

She doesn't realize she's being followed until the guy says, “Don't worry about him. He seems like a strong kid.”

“We all are, right?” Allison gives him a weak smile. “I just feel bad. I think I went too hard on him during our match.”

“You don’t get stronger unless you face adversity,” he says and reaches out to pet the gray fur of Riolu. Allison smiles as Riolu leans into the touch, looking far too serious for the noise of appreciation they make. “Besides, Riolu versus a starter? There’s no contest. I'm Scott, from Beacon City.”

“Allison,” she returns absently, looking around for an empty row of seats to sit down. The Pokecenter is packed to the brim of tired, dirty teens. Scott follows beside her. Finally, they find a few empty seats along the back wall, close to the phones and the bathroom.

“I'm from Hill Town.” Allison adds, because it seems polite. She hasn’t talked to a person in a few weeks and the words feel awkward in her mouth. “Beacon City is pretty far from here.”

She remembers the quaint city, full of happy people and happier pokemon. It was one of the first cities she stopped at, and one of her most devastating gym memories.

Scott grins, banishing the bad memory away. He rubs at his head and bashfully admits, “Doesn't feel that far, somedays. I've been training for years but it's like I'm no closer to my dream than I was when I started.”

Allison wonders if it would be polite to ask what his dream is, but the answer is fairly obvious. After all, what is everyone else in this pokemon center on a cold Spring night aiming for?

The backpack strapped across his shoulder is full, bursting at the seams, and his eyes are crinkled, like he's been awake for too long but can't stand the idea of resting. There are pokeballs at his waist and a beaten up pokedex hanging from his pocket. It’s a few generations older than her own.

Despite everything, none of the kids here are that different, not where it matters.

A boy comes running over, panting Scott’s name as he trips over sleeping bags left and right, breathing out apologizes through each panting breath. He's drenched like a wet cat, and it's only when he gets closer that Allison sees that he's not a child at all. His head is shaved, prickly porcupine hair standing up on end, and his clothes cling to his muscles from the frigid rain.

“Scotty,” he pants, leaning against Scott's shoulder for balance. “Bad news. That light rain shower you were certain would pass in a few minutes? Turns out it’s a storm. Nurse Delgado says Officer Stilinski won't let anyone of out the city until the ocean calms down.”

Scott leans back in his chair with a sigh, turning his eyes downcast. Allison's own mood fizzles at the news, but she really can't complain. She was going to stay in Cerulean City for a few days anyway, desperately needing a soft bed and a warm shower, but being trapped in the stuffy pokemon center isn't exactly what she had in mind. There is little doubt that any lodging is overflowing.

Still. She could probably do worse for company.

She butts Scott with her elbow, asks, “Had somewhere to be?”

“Who's this?” The spiky haired kid cuts in, voice wavering with suspicion. There's a look in his eye, like he already knows but is just waiting for confirmation, and Allison's' teeth clench, so tired of seeing that look that it makes her want to Force Palm this kid away from her. Riolu tenses in her lap, as if sensing her mood. It’s funny how, after a few years together, it’s almost as if they share a mind.

“Allison,” she says, voice hard like it's a challenge. She adds a bite to her words, makes them freeze like ice, “Allison Argent.”

The words hit exactly like they want them to. He takes a step back as if physically struck, face going through twenty different expressions in just as many seconds.

“Okay,” the kid nods, quickly, “Cool. That's just- great. Really. You must be super proud of your family lineage. Hey, Scotty, can I have a quick word with you about as far away from this psychotic chick as possible?”

He waddles a few steps away, like even being near Allison is poison. A younger version of herself, a ten year old out on the road with only a single pokeball at her side, would have been hurt, but the only emotion she can manage is infuriated. She opens her mouth to defend herself, but she's cut off.

“Sorry about Stiles,” Scott says, as he reaches out and pulls on his companion's sleeve. All of the fight in Allison leaves at the simple apology, given freely with no strings attached. She deflates like a balloon, staring at Scott like she can’t quite believe he’s real.

Stiles falls into the chair with a cry, huffing as he rights himself, but her eyes are on Scott’s face as he shrugs, as easy as breathing, “He doesn't know what it's like to be judged on your last name.”

There's an extra bite to his words, directed at his friend, and Allison watches Stiles tense in his chair, eyes widening.

“Okay, you cannot even!” Stiles squawks, affronted. “There's a difference between you being compared to your deadbeat dad and her psycho aunt who tried to commit _pokemon genocide_!”

Allison flinches back at the words, only burned because she foolishly let her guard down.

Team Argent – her family's legacy. They were a horrible and elite team, who thought that pokemon were an abomination on the Earth, and were determined to exterminate all of them. The group was led by her Grandfather, Gerard Argent, under the name Team Rocket, but when her aunt took over the company had been given a complete overhaul and made it Team Argent, made herself and Gerard the faces of it, as if making them look more like a family cooperation would make people agree with their motives more.

She remembers the propaganda posters in the basement, her aunt's silver suit with a red A across the top. Sometimes, she remembers worse things, things that keep her up at night; the sounds of pokemon crying in the basement, the plans whispered behind closed doors about thievery and bombs.

She shakes her head to clear the thoughts, wishing they would leave for good. Team Argent was disbanded ten years ago, and her aunt has been in jail ever since. She says as much to Stiles, glaring harshly at him.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “As if they didn’t hurt and murder thousands of pokemon when they were active! Because locking them up in jail magically makes all of their crimes go away, right? Do you even know how many pokemon they-”

Allison can’t hear anymore of this. It’s nothing that hasn’t been hurled at her before and yet it still aches. Each time the wound heals it is torn open, again and again.

She stands quickly and leaves, hating herself for not being stronger, for not standing and fighting. By the time she gets to the restroom she can no longer contain the tears in her eyes, cursing at herself as she stares at her weak form in the mirror.

The water stings as she splashes it on her face, but the bite of the cold doesn’t compare to the constant, all consuming throb of pain that fires at every single neuron in her body.

Allison has been on her journey for seven years, and each step seems to bring her farther and farther away from redemption.

“We should just go home,” she tells Riolu, who trills quietly against her calf.

She stares at the tiny pokemon and finds herself smiling despite the agony in her heart. Looking at him, she wants to disavow herself of the Argent name. She wants to physically sever ties with her family, because how can anyone look at her tiny friend and think monster? How can they see the kindness and purity in these creatures and call them abominations?

Her hands curl around the porcelain sink.

 _“You look just like her,”_ the Beacon City gym leader had said, shaking her head in disgust. _“How long until you burn that poor little Riolu just as she did to so many? How can you stand here and dare to call yourself a pokemon trainer with what your family did?”_

Sometimes, Allison doesn’t know how either.

But then she thinks of her mother, and the way she gently spoke to the ninetales that was always at her heels. She blinks away the image of them, her blood soaked into the ninetales once pristine white fur, her aunt’s sparkling teeth in her wicked smile, her mother’s dead body lying forgotten on the forest floor.

 _“They’re monsters,”_ her aunt said, a manic gleam in her eye. _“And we have to destroy them all.”_

The voice that haunts her nightmares runs away as someone knocks softly on the door. Allison pats at her face, refusing to let anyone, especially that Stiles kid, see her cry.

Scott stands at the door when she opens it, and there is no obnoxious, rude boy at his side so Allison doesn’t slam the door in his face.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says quickly, like he’s afraid she may sick Riolu on him. “Stiles gets worked up easily. It wasn’t your fault, what your family did.”

He sounds sincere. There is no fear in his brown eyes, no hatred in the curl of his lips. Allison sees no knife in his hands, ready to stab her in the back and so, even if every bone in her body is demanding otherwise, Allison smiles at him.

“It’s okay,” she tells him, “I’ll kick his ass as soon as the storm dies down.”

They spend the two days of the storm lock down glaring at each other, and anytime Allison so much as breathes the same air as Scott, Stiles looks ready to hurl himself between them. It all comes to head when Officer Stilinski finally unlocks the doors to the Pokecenter, and Allison stands and demands a pokebattle.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks, eyebrow raised and posture relaxed. He looks too lax, too chill, and it makes her want to kick him off of whatever pedestal he’s erected for himself.

“No. If you win, I’ll give you $50 and never speak to you again.”

Stiles’ eyes widen at the prospect, but he’s quick to add, “Okay, but you can’t speak to Scott either.”

Scott groans at this stipulation, “Guys, guys come on, you don’t need to-”

“Deal.”

  
And they shake on it.

**Author's Note:**

> As the journey continues!


End file.
